When asked what kind of creator I am, the word “poet” never comes to mind. I think of anything small that isn’t an expression of my own experience as “tiny fiction”. It’s later that I wonder where the line is drawn. Didn’t I used to write poetry?
See what I posted in the beginning of my blog compared to today.
Ironic haiku from “How Not to be Funny” post (2009):
Pink roses with dew
Bursting from the green foliage
Eaten by a goat
“Predawn Pallor” poem (2009)
Thoughts flitter past:
void of color and pattern.
I am rock,
not the powerful creature
full of energy
body and mind.
Both rest, waiting.
light creeps into mind’s crevices,
returning life to stone flesh.
“Within the Trio” poetic prose (2009)
In the tense silence, a tremor passes from each soldier to the next.
“Engage!” Discordant mayhem engulfs the cry.
Within the swarm, sight conquers, deciphering enemy from ally.
Two allies swirl around the advancing center that is me.
Focusing past them, I track then disarm fragments of the enemy.
In the end, we straddle the army that understood nothing of our power, our unity.
“15 Every 15 series” (2017)